The Land of Oz
by Eve215
Summary: Disturbing dreams force Jane to question which reality is real. The one where he is consultant with the CBI or the one that scares him the most.. the one where he never left the mental institution.
1. Dreams

_A/N: I've debated how to sell this story, because basically, that's what summaries and A/N's do "Sell". So, this idea came from a conversation Kathiann and I had. The rest of the chapters will be longer, I promise. This is just a tease. I have the first 3 chapters written. The basic summary of this story is that events happen which cause Jane to question which reality is "real". His preferred life as consultant with the CBI or the nightmarish life he dreams of every time he sleeps. The life where he's never left the mental institution... well physically anyway. All review, good, bad, and side-ways, are welcome. All characters aren't mine.... all mistakes are._

_Enjoy the trip into Jane's subconsciousness._

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_**The Land of Oz**_

_Chapter 1: Dreams_

The dreams came, as they did every time he slept. They were the reason he didn't sleep unless forced.

The dreams were always the same.

Same white room.

Same red smiling face on the wall. The one he'd created using his own blood to be a match for the one taunting him from home.

Sometimes he was bleeding.

Sometimes he was tied to a bed. The bed he'd grown to hate.

Sophie, beautiful Sophie who had helped him so much while he was institutionalized, would always come to comfort him. Calm him. Bandage him up if he was bleeding. Sophie, his psychiatrist, had been his lifeline, and truth be told, the only living person at the time who he had any kind of positive feelings for.

Sophie had been the one bright spot in his horrible existence in the mental hospital. Everything else... everything else had been hell.

Which was why he couldn't sleep.

When he slept, he dreamed. And what he dreamed scared him more than the reality of being awake. If he had of been lucky enough to dream of his family.. his family alive and well before the murders, then that would have been the ultimate pleasure.

If he had dreamed of Red John, then at least he could get justice, if just in his mind.

But dreaming of _that_ place, with it's sterile whiteness-- It's confinement. It's horrible memories--- well, he'd rather not.

There had been a time when he had been in there, feeling trapped-- alone-- where he had let his mind wander and escape to a place where he was well, or doing better at least. A place where there was sun and trees-- people. People who cared about him. People who helped him find and punish Red John. A place where he could laugh and make jokes. A nice place. A healthy place. A place full of color and interesting characters. Not like the institution. Never like the institution.

While inside, Jane had imagined a place where he could help people using the 'gifts' he'd been given. The gift of awareness. The gift of observation. He could help people and feel important all at the same time. He so desperately wanted to help people. Maybe if he could help people, then eventually, he could help himself.

While committed, he had dreamed of that colorful place. Those interesting people. Outside, however, he only dreamed of the white, coldness, and loneliness of his small room.

Sleep didn't come easily to Patrick Jane. After all, who would want to sleep if it only sent you to that room, when you could be awake and among the living?

But Patrick Jane _was_ sleeping-- and with sleep came the dreams.


	2. Kansas

_A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews for the first chapter. I thought that since it was so short, and you all *might* want to know what was going on, I'd give you chapter 2 tonight. This is one of the most fun stories I've ever written and I hope you feel the same. All characters aren't mine, all mistakes are. _

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Chapter 2: Kansas

_"I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here. It's just a dream. God, it's just a dream. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's-- " He thought that over and over, laying on the bed, eyes wide, in the white room. He could feel the drugs coursing through his veins, messing with his mind. At least he wasn't tied down this time as he was in some of his nightmares. Thank Heaven for small favors. He could feel the pillow soft under his head, but it gave him no comfort. In fact, it had the opposite effect. "It's not real." he kept telling himself. Just a dream... a nightmare. He couldn't remember going to sleep, and he couldn't remember why. But he wished he hadn't. He wanted more than anything to wake up._

_He turned his head to the left and saw the red smiling face, the one he'd drawn with his own blood a few short days into his stay. It was looking down at him, taunting him. _

_"I can't stay here. I can't. I've gotta go back. Gotta wake up. Gotta wake up." he closed his eyes, repeating the mantra. God, he wanted to go back._

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"Jane. Jane, wake up. Can you hear me?" her voice, sweet and familiar, caused him to stir.

Lisbon.

Everything felt so heavy. His legs felt like they were in cased in cement and his head, his head hurt like a heard of elephants were trampling him. He felt like he'd been drugged, but had no idea where he was or what he was laying on. It was cold, whatever it was.

His eyes seemed unable to meet even the simplest of his commands and refused to open. But at least he wasn't dreaming any more.

"Ambulance is on its way." he heard the Rigsby say. So, Rigsby was there too. He wondered who else was. He couldn't remember what had happened, but he was eternally grateful that he was no longer sleeping-- or so he thought.

_"Patrick. Patrick, can you hear me? I"m here now. Fight the delusion and come back to me." _

_Her_ voice, Sophie's, caused his eyes to instantly open and panic fill him. He sat up hastily, half-expecting to be back in that God-forsaken white room. However, the first face he met wasn't that of Sophie but of Teresa Lisbon.

He exhaled the tense breath that he hadn't even known he'd been holding, and without warning, pulled her to him. Not caring who was watching, he held her tightly to his chest, afraid she would disappear if he let her go. Jane's head ached and his arm throbbed, but none of it mattered. He wasn't crazy any more. It had just been a dream. Lisbon was there. She was real. She was--- his, as much as anybody was his. He took time to feel her tiny body against his, to smell the delicate coconut scent of her hair. She was tangible. Something he could hold on to, melt in to. Not like the nightmares of that empty room. The room he never wanted to see again.

Feeling her tense, he reluctantly let her go. "You OK, Jane?" she asked concerned.

He wanted to tell her that no, he wasn't fine. He wanted to confide in her that every time he fell asleep, he'd go to that room. That sometimes he heard voices and saw flashes of people who weren't really there. He wanted to tell her that he had believed for the briefest of instances that he'd regressed and gone crazy again. But he stopped himself. He was Patrick Jane and he had a certain way about him that people expected, whether they knew they expected it or not. Instead of the truth, he smiled from one side of his mouth. If anyone knew him well enough, they would know that the gesture was his telltale sign of lying. Lisbon didn't seem to catch it. "I'm fine." he said, sitting up straighter to take in his surroundings. It appeared to be a factory of some sort. Stains covered the cold gray floors. It had been the floor that he'd been laying on, he realized. It was filled with old, dusty, and decrepit looking machines. What they did, he couldn't be sure, but he hoped they were up to code. Above him, the ceiling was covered with rafters and what looked like steel.

Seeing where he was laying, he somewhat remembered what had happened, but not entirely.

"Connelly Aluminum Plant." It was Cho speaking. Jane had to turn nearly around to see his friend who was standing a few feet behind him. Grace was next to him and between them sat a man he didn't recognize handcuffed to one of those rolling office chairs. To his left, Rigsby hoovered with a look that was a cross between amusement and bewilderment. Jane only assumed that it had been left over from seeing his rather intimate embrace with Lisbon. She rounded out the players, kneeling in front of him. Her cheeks were tinged pink, he only guessed it was a side-effect of his rather unusual act of affection.

Knowing where everybody was and where he was at made things a little better, but not quite. He felt woozy and wobbly. Something still wasn't right. When he moved his head, little lights flickered around in his vision. It was not a good sign. He tried to wipe the annoying little things away, but it didn't seem to help. "Hey, take it easy." Lisbon told him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You've been drugged."

It was too late. Her words seemed so far away, but her touch, that he felt to his core. "Lisbon." he said as his vision tunneled. He felt consciousness falling away and he himself falling backward toward the hard gray floor.

He waited and waited.

Nothing.

To his surprise, he didn't hit. The thud he was expecting didn't come. And it was no longer dark. From behind his eyelids, he could see light, seemingly bright, white light. He wondered for split second if he had died and this was Heaven... then he remembered he didn't believe in Heaven. Still, Heaven actually existing would be a good thing to be wrong about, he imagined.

He could still feel the hand, Lisbon's hand, on his shoulder, letting him know that everything was alright. That she was there with him. When he finally got his eyes to cooperate and open, he was unceremoniously met with an intense white light over him. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and his mind to comprehend where the light was coming from. There had been no lights like that in the factory. He was sure of it.

"Welcome back, Patrick." The familiar voice, Sophie's voice, greeted him sweetly, but to him, it sounded like the most terrifying sound in the world.

Horrified and groggy, he sat up which caused the world to spin more. "Calm down. It's OK, Patrick. I'm here. It's me. It was just a dream." again her hand, her's not Lisbon's, was on his shoulder.

His breathing increased and his heartrate skyrocketed as he examined his surroundings. It was his room. He was back in the mental hospital. Frantically, he began pinching himself repeatedly on the forearm, screaming at himself to wake up.


	3. Oz

_A/N: I want to thank all of you who have read this story. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but it's actually one of my favorites of mine. I hope you like this chapter... or at least find it interesting. All characters aren't mine. All mistakes are. And there might be a lot. I'm very sleepy._

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Chapter 3: Oz

"Patrick, calm down." Sophie's words only made him worse. He pinched the skin right above his elbow harder, getting angry that he couldn't wake up. From the corner of his eye, he saw the dark haired psychiatrist walking toward him. Her hands were raised as if confronting a wild animal. Maybe she was.

"We've been through this before, Patrick. I know it's a shock. But hurting yourself isn't the answer." Gently, her hands grabbed his to make him stop pinching himself. The bruises were already dark and ugly from his attempts. Agitated, Jane slapped her hands away from his. "You're not real." he yelled, jumping from the hospital bed and to the corner of the small, white room he was confined in.

_Not confined._ he corrected._ Dreaming. I'm dreaming. _"I'm dreaming." he muttered without meaning to.

"You aren't dreaming." Sophie stayed at the opposite end of the room. "_This _is real. _This_ is reality."

"Stop saying that." He answered near tears. He couldn't figure out why he was letting a dream, a hallucination get to him so badly. It was the place. He couldn't control his emotions in that place. "It's just a dream." it seemed to be all he could say.

She paused as if trying to decide on a strategy. "You're not always asleep when you come back here, are you?"

Her statement made his head shoot up to her. There was no way she could no that. No way. In the past five years since his wife and daughter had died, he had had these nightmares, sometimes as daydreams, where he was back in the institution.... that he'd never gotten out and his life had been something he'd just imagined. He'd awoke from those nightmares sweaty and shaking, but none had ever been as real and as tangible as this one. This time he could feel the soft padded wall he was leaned against. Hell, he supposed if he tried hard enough he could smell the scent of Sophie's shampoo. He wondered if it was coconut, and laughed a sad, somewhat crazed laugh to himself.

"You're just in my head." The words came out with a forceful certainty, but his body language spoke another tail. His mind reeled as he sank down so that he was crouching in the corner. Why couldn't he control his emotions there? Why did he feel so out of control? Why did he not feel like the smartest person in the room? Grasping his head in his heads, he shut his eyes tightly and tried to focus on what he remembered.

A cold, gray floor.

The team there with him.

"Lisbon." his eyes raised to the woman standing across from him. "Lisbon said that I'd been drugged." Strangely, that memory made him smile and relax a little. He'd been drugged. That's why things were so screwed up in his mind.

He wasn't so far gone into his self-contained celebration that he didn't notice Sophie laying her clipboard down on his bed and sighing as if they had played out this entire conversation before. "Patrick--" she said gently, hands clasped in a non-confrontational way in front of her. "There is no Lisbon. She is part of your delusion--"

"No-- No. You are the only delusion--"

She didn't stop her explanation. "You made her up because you needed someone to spar against. Someone you thought of as an equal. Someone you couldn't hurt."

He vigorously shook his head. God, he wanted to wake up. Everything hurt here. "I didn't make her up. She's real."

It was Sophie's turn to shake her head. "None of them are real, Patrick. Grace Van Pelt was the name of your first girlfriend. Kimball Cho? He was your high school drama teacher."

"No." he rolled his eyes at the ludiciousness of her statements. "Kristy-Ann Langston was my first girlfriend. Sarah Manning was my drama teacher."

"In your delusion, yes. You've made up an elaborate web of lies for yourself. You have friends. You work for the CBI. You catch bad guys. But it's only your minds way of coping with what you did."

His head cocked side-ways, and a strange, sinister expression deadened his eyes. "What _I _did?"

Sophie swallowed hard. "Patrick." she paused. "There is no Red John."

Hearing that... hearing that nightmare speaking of the serial killer that way made something inside him snap. Without realizing what his body was doing, he was already to his feet. He grabbed the woman who was half his size and slammed her back against the wall, inches from the fading Red John smiling face he'd drawn in his own blood. His fingers buried deep into her arms, making her flinch, but not yell out. "They think that _I'm_ the crazy one. Hell, maybe I am, having a conversation with a dream. But real or not. Crazy or not. One thing I know for damn certain is that there _is_ a Red John. And that bastard killed my family. And for you, _you_ to say there's not-- Who do you think you are?"

Her eyes were full like saucers, but her voice remained as calm as she could make it. "Patrick, let me go. Please. I'll explain it all, but you're hurting me. I know you don't want to--"

"Lady, you have no idea what I want." He glowered, but released his grasp on her anyway. He had no idea he'd held her so tightly. So tightly that she would probably bruise. He did feel bad for that.

He walked away from her then, running his fingers through his tousled curls, and paced the room like a caged animal. When he turned back to her, he was surprised to see a small compact mirror in her hand. "Sorry, I left my make up in my other reality."

"I want you to look at yourself. Really look at yourself. Look and then tell me that it's not real." Deciding he had nothing to lose, he grabbed the small silver mirror from her and examined his reflection. It was staggering. His blond hair curled around his head, longer than he remembered and in a disorderly mess. His eyes were black and sunken. His skin pale and clammy. He looked like a man who wasn't entirely there.

"Patrick. This is your reality. The world you've made for yourself has helped you cope. It's been a crutch for you, but you no longer need it. In your delusions, it's been five years since your wife and daughter died." He noticed how she worded that, and it made him sick to his stomach. _There is no Red John. _"But in reality, it's been only six months."

The words hit him hard and he no longer wanted to be where he was. The mirror dropped from his hand and exploded into a million different pieces. Eyes glazing back over, he staggered back against the wall. The red face his sole focal point. _There is no Red John. _He wanted those words to leave him alone. He wanted to beat them out of his head. As he slid down the wall, he beat his head back. One. Two. Three. Anything to wake up. Anything to forget that horrible place and never come back. He heard Sophie's voice telling him to stop, but both her voice and he himself were to far gone.

Through the haze, he could hear Sophie calling his name, but he didn't care. He just wanted to wake up. He wanted his friends back.

"Jane. Hey, Jane. Wake up. Can you hear me?" It was her again. Lisbon. His Lisbon, even if he'd never thought of her as his before. He quickly opened one eye and then the other. Letting out a stuttered breath, he realized he was in a hospital, but not like the one before. A beige room this time. His head hurt like hell.

"Welcome back, Jane." Lisbon smiled down at him brightly.

Grateful it was her, he smiled back. He was glad to be home.


	4. Lifeline

_A/N: Wow :) I can't believe the great response for the last chapter. I'm glad this story is intriguing for you. All characters aren't mine. All mistakes are. _

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Chapter 4: Lifeline

"Jane-- Jane, say something. You're scaring me."

He wasn't trying to scare her. It wasn't his intention to frighten her. If he could have spoken, he would have. However, he was finding it difficult for his mouth to cooperate with what his tired and muddled mind wanted.

"Damn it, Jane. You're freaking me out." her voice was high and shaky. Hesitating as if unsure what to do, she reached over him toward the nurse button on the bed post. His hand, which thankfully wasn't having as many issues as his brain, caught it before she could press the call button. Gently but firmly, he guided her hand down and rested it on his chest, fingers intertwining with hers. He looked up at her, eyes glossy, like he was so desperately trying to hang on to something. Like he was pleading with her to be real. His head hurt so badly.

"What's going on with you?" Lisbon asked. It sounded like she was trying to mask her concern. She wasn't doing a good job at it.

It took him a minute for his mouth to work. He just kept staring at her, rubbing her tightly clutched hand in soothing circles. "You're real?" he finally said. It hadn't been intended as a question, but it had came out that way. He heard the doubt and the young child quality in his voice and it made him cringe. Despite that, he could feel tears swelling up in his eyes. That was ticking him off too. He didn't want to feel those things. He didn't want to be so helpless. Whatever he had been injected with must have been good stuff.

He heard her talking, but couldn't quite comprehend what she was saying. His mind raced, trying to catch up. But he was finding it difficult to concentrate on Lisbon's words. _There is no Red John. _kept spinning through his jumbled brain like a skipping record.

"That's it." Lisbon said, pulling her hand away from his. "I'm getting a doctor."

"Lisbon, no. Stop. It's ok. I'm--" _I'm what? Fine._ He laughed bitterly to himself. "Just please stay with me. Don't leave."

She stopped at the door, hand on the metal handle. Jane could read her from that far away. She was confused, upset, concerned, and scared for him. Truthfully, he felt the same way. He knew he had to pull himself together. He was Patrick Jane after all. He had complete control over his mind... mostly. He shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Instantly, he felt his heart rate slow and his muscles relax. If he could tune that phrase that was taunting him out of his mind, he knew he would feel better. That place... that place with Sophie had been like a nightmare that you carried around with you all day after you had it. It was annoying.

He opened his eyes back to her. "I'm sorry." he said, smiling at her as best he could. He didn't want her to know there was anything wrong, well, more than she already knew. He wanted more than anything for her to stop looking at him like that. "Good drugs, like you said."

She replied nothing which caused him to panic slightly. As he always did, he concealed it, glad that the only telltale sign was a few drops of sweat beading on his forehead. But it was summer in California. Maybe she would chalk it up to the heat. "Really, it's not as bad as it looks."

She smiled- finally. "Yeah, I've heard that from you before."

"But this time I mean it."

"Of course you do." her words dripped sarcasm, but she grinned while she said them. He could see that she was trying to hold herself together for him the way he was trying to do the same for her. To his gratitude, she released the doorknob and walked back toward his bed.

It was then that, for the first time, he noticed her surroundings. He already knew that he was in a beige room, not white one like he'd been in the mental hospital... like he was in his nightmares. To his right, he saw an IV pole with the long clear cord running to a vein in his forearm. He followed the trail from his forearm to his hand to his stomach. The sight of the white gown he was wearing brought a flashback to the mental institution which caused his breath to hitch. He closed his eyes, but only saw that room, white and sterile. The door was locked from the outside, and he was trapped with only the red face as company. Kind of like Wilson in Castaway.

"Jane, do you remember anything that happened?" he words brought him back and he opened his eyes. He couldn't help it, but every time he opened his eyes and saw her, he couldn't imagine a more beautiful sight. Going from the dead abyss of his hospital 'cell' to her.. alive and vibrant.. shocked his system, in a good way.

"Jane?" she repeated quietly. She raised her fingers to his forehead and lightly rubbed away some of the curls that had strayed out of place. It was a move that was so tender that Jane wondered for the first time if he really was making it all up. If Sophie had been right and he'd only created Lisbon in his mind to give him what he needed, when he needed it.

"Jane? You ok?"

"No... um, yes. Sorry. Just thinking."

"That's a dangerous thing." she laughed, taking her fingers away from his curls and placing her hands on the bars that enclosed the bed.

"Indeed. Yes, I'm ok." he lied. "No, I don't remember anything about the case."

"Ok. It's ok. We were working on trying to find out who murdered Jeff Taylor."

"Jeff owned Connelly Aluminum Plant." he remembered.

"Good. You figured out that Tom Peterson, a disgruntled employ, had been the one to stick him in the scrap metal compactor."

"Being disgruntled, I guess he decided to come after me."

"Actually, being disgruntled, he decided to come after _me_." His eyes shot up to her, wide and surprised. He hadn't expected that. "He was coming after me with the syringe and, out of no where, you pushed me out of the way. The needle pierced you instead of me. You saved me."

Again, he was shocked with himself. He knew he wasn't really the type to save anyone, much less when physical peril was involved. "Guess that makes me your hero." he teased.

"Guess it does. I'll make you that Superman cape now." she grinned.

He laughed, already having a witty comeback on his tongue. However, involuntarily his eyes darted to the wall behind Lisbon causing him to do a double take. She didn't seem to notice it, but he did. The beige wall flashed white and his Red John face loomed over her.

_"There is no Red John."_

"..._it's only your minds way of coping with what you did."_

"Stop it." Jane whispered, pulling his hands to his ears to block out Sophie's voice. Without realizing it, he'd also sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face there.

He felt a hand on his, but was afraid to open his eyes. Would he see Lisbon or Sophie?


	5. The Dark

_A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews :) I'm so glad people are liking this story. All mistakes are mine. All characters aren't._

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Chapter 5: The Dark

He felt her hand on his but was to afraid to look. Would it be Lisbon or Sophie? Reality or his dream world? Up until that moment, he didn't think his head could have hurt any worse. He was wrong.

"Jane? Jane, can you hear me?"

Lisbon. Thank goodness, he thought. He laughed happily almost crazed. Happy to not be asleep and back in that place.

_"Patrick. Patrick, come back. You have to fight this. Please."_

Hell no!

Sophie.

"Stop it!" he yelled at the two wars waging in his head. He found himself jumping off of the bed, harshly pulling his IV out of his arm in the process. It was Sophie he heard in his head, telling him to calm down, that everything would be alright, but it was Lisbon, beautifully alive Lisbon, that he saw in front of him. He couldn't hear what she was saying because when her lips moved he heard Sophie's voice. He could tell, though. Her expression was full of fear. He could relate. He closed his eyes, willing himself to snap out of it. To put Sophie back in the box she belonged in. While he was fixated on that, he didn't notice that he'd slid down the wall beside his bed. He kept his eyes shut, counting 1........2.......3........4....... deep breath..... 5.

When he slowly opened them, Lisbon was no longer there.

The beige room was gone. The beeping machines which had sounded alarms after the electrodes had been pulled off of his chest when he jumped out of the bed were gone too. It was quiet. And it was white.

"Hi." she said, sitting across from him on his bed. Why did everything have to be so... white? And why did that bother him so much?

"Hi." he said back almost to conversationally, like he'd given up on trying to figure out what was going on. He tiredly leaned back against the padded wall that felt much to real. He wondered how long the drug the man Peterson had given him would stay in effect. It wasn't that much of a stretch for him to also wonder next how long it would take for the drug to actually drive him insane. The room he was in wasn't real, he knew that. Even if he could feel the cool, pale floor below him and the soft white wall he leaned on just like in the real world. He could feel and smell everything like he could when he wasn't dreaming. To him, that place felt as real as when was back with Lisbon. That feeling was definitely unnerving. But it wasn't real. It couldn't be. His body was back with Lisbon, but his brain was taking a field trip to Oz. He knew he had to keep reminding him of that because if he kept seeing it, kept feeling it, kept 'talking' to it, then he would be committed again in the real world. And he wouldn't ever be able to escape his nightmare.

"You were talking to her." Sophie stated matter-of-fact.

He shrugged, calmer than he felt he should be at that moment. Everything had taken on a surreal quality that, strangely, was kind of nice. "That's what one does with one's friends."

"Patrick. She's not real." she seemed to plead. He could tell that she was tired too. Her eyes glistening from untapped tears. He had no idea why she would cry.. for him of all people. Especially since she was imaginary. What was his drugged out subconscious telling him having her there near tears?

He felt strange again and his eyes flickered to his 'cell' door. It wasn't white like the rest of the room now, but beige like the one back home. It was a lifeline and he was going to take it. "Don't go, Patrick. Fight it, please. For me. It's just a delusion." He smiled at her. She really was very beautiful and drifted away. He was too far gone.

When he next opened his eyes, he was met with his favorite image in the world, Lisbon. He was still hunkered down in the corner of the room, his bedsheets and hospital gown were all twisted together. He could hear the alarms on his unattached machines going off wildly, and his arm stung from where the IV was pulled out. But he didn't care. He was where he belonged. "How long was I gone?" he asked her, eyes big and fearful that he'd been out an exceedingly long amount of time. The calm disconnected feeling he'd felt with Sophie had gone. He could feel panic seeping into the empty holes.

"Not long. Maybe thirty seconds."

He smiled as best he could and nodded. Thirty seconds wasn't that long. He could deal with thirty second trips to the dark side as long as he knew he could come back to reality, and as long as he knew it was temporary. Or at least, he hoped it was.

He saw that her face was contorted with concern. It broke his heart and made him angry at Peterson for causing her this pain. Instinctively, he raised his hand to gently stroke her cheek, an unspoken way of letting her know that it would all be ok even if he wasn't sure of that himself. At the first tender brush of fingers to skin, the door swung open and in ran two nurses. One ran to shut off the alarms and the other ran to Jane's side to see if he was ok. "I feel out of bed. Clumsy of me really." he told her in his most charming way, letting her help him stand, and saying all of the right words to make her and the other nurse believe that he was fine and, after hooking him back up and bandaging the wound left from tearing out his IV, leave.

"Pretty impressive bit of handy work with the nurses." Lisbon said not smiling once the nurses had gone.

"Ah." he waved her off. His heart monitor was showing an annoying increase in his heart rate. He knew the doctor would probably be in at any moment and that was making him more anxious. He had hated doctors before, but now he was terrified of them. One sight of the white coat (one like Sophie wore) and he was afraid he'd lose it. For five years, he'd fought to hold himself together, now that was feeling harder than ever. He'd never felt so vulnerable, and he hated it.

Lisbon sighed and pulled up a chair beside his bed. She didn't speak for a second as if trying to find the right words. "You were given a very powerful hallucinogen, Jane. It's no wonder it's playing with you mind."

"It's not."

"Really?" No one could miss the skepticism in her voice. It was oozing it.

He nodded, grinning out of one side of his mouth (one of his nervous twitches), and as habit, started scanning the room he was in. Normally, he'd have already done it, but with the flashes and all, he hadn't had the time. To his right was an ivory colored sink and above that a small medicine cabinet type mirror. He could see his reflection in it which startled him. He didn't recognize himself at first... no, that was lie. He recognized himself alright. He looked almost exactly like the man he'd seen in Sophie's mirror in his dream. His hair was shorter of course, but the top curls were damp from sweat and plastered to his head in a dizzying array. His eyes were exactly the same as they had been with Sophie too. Black and sunken. His skin was sickly pale, and he wondered, not for the first time, what the hell Peterson had given him. It was his second thought, however, that made him flinch... what if there was no Peterson?

"Very powerful hallucinogen, huh?" he slightly laughed, although he felt no humor.

"Yeah, the doctor said it would take up to forty-eight hours for it to get out of your system."

His heart sank. The monitors registered a slight deceleration in his heart rate. As lots of other things seemed to be doing, Jane found that very annoying. "Forty-eight hours." he repeated. How was he supposed to live the next two days flashing from one 'reality' to the next like some weird _Lost_ episode? When he first came back from 'Sophieland' he was sure he could handle it. Now faced with a real timetable, he wasn't so sure.

He was too caught up in his thoughts to notice the way Lisbon was looking over at him. When he finally did see it, the same concerned look she'd been giving him all day, it instantly ticked him off. "I'm not dying." he snapped.

"I know that." she said calmly.

"Then stop looking at me like I'm going to explode at any minute." But that's exactly how he felt. Like at any moment, he could explode, shatter, into a million tiny, inconsequential pieces.

She didn't respond to that, instead she surprised him with, "What are you hallucinating about, Jane?"

"Why?"

"Because-- you've been mumbling-- in your sleep."

Cursing to himself because he didn't want Lisbon to know how crazy he felt he was becoming, he simply repeated, "Mumbling?"

She nodded.

"About what?"

"Well, you shout 'No' a lot. You've said something about what _you_ did, but I can't make out the rest."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't try." he said. He felt his defensive walls building back up. He hadn't even realized he'd let them down.

"Jane, if you need to talk to someone--"

"I don't."

"Fine." she conceded. Jane understood that she was frustrated with him, but to his gratitude, she was trying to hide it. She was worried for him which in turn made him both appreciative and mad. Mad at the man who'd done this to him. And mad at himself for the nagging feeling in his gut that maybe Lisbon _was_ to perfect and that maybe he _had_ made her up. He really disliked being crazy.

Without thinking, he grabbed her hand, causing a shocked look to appear briefly on her face. "Lisbon," he said, rubbing his fingers lightly over hers. He needed to touch her. To feel her, warm and soft, and... real. "I know this is difficult. I'm sorry that I can't open up to you. Just know that I'm handling this the best way I know how." Looking into her eyes, he found himself wanting to tell her everything. Tell her about Sophie and the institution he kept going back to. He wanted to tell her that he was fearful about it all. That it was freaking him out inside, but he was trying to keep it together outside. He longed to tell her about the conversation he'd had with Sophie about there not being a Red John, and about what he'd done to his family...... No, he took that back. No one needed to ever know about that. It was to painful. To unnerving, and to sick to even think about.

Instead of telling her everything he was feeling, both good and frightening, he simply smiled brightly and said, "In forty-eight hours, I'll be good as gold. Back to the old Jane and all of my charms you all love so much will be fully functional."

She smiled back at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. He pondered if that meant that she didn't think he'd get better, or that she didn't like the old Jane as much as he thought. She took her hand from his and patted it gently. "Get some rest, huh?"

"Ok." he was exhausted, but knew he'd fight Heaven and Earth to keep from going to sleep.

"I'll come back and check on you later." She got up and made her way to the door.

"Lisbon." he called for her as her hand reached for the handle. She turned back to him. "Thank you for everything. You're an angel."

To that, she laughed. He knew she hadn't been expecting him to say that. "You're hallucinating again, Jane." she teased. "Get some rest." she repeated again. And then she was gone.

"Angel--" he sighed, resting his head back on his pillow, many different thoughts jumbling his already crowded mind. "--or figment of my imagination?"

He knew that him making her up was impossible, but he still had that nagging feeling. Drug induced, he was sure. He couldn't believe what he'd let happen to him. He was Patrick Jane, as he kept reminding himself. He wasn't a coward... well he was when physical danger was involved, but not like this. He wasn't one to run like a little school girl when things got fuzzy in his mind.

Suddenly, he knew what to do. He reached over and pressed the nurses call button. He told her what he wanted, then picked up the off-white hospital grade phone that had been sitting on the tray beside his bed. The person picked up on the second ring, and seemed surprised to hear Jane's voice. Jane explained his plan and hung up after his accomplice had reluctantly agreed to it. He would face his fear head on. It was the only way he knew how to do it. He was tired of hiding in the dark.


	6. The Tin Man

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. The mistakes are mine.. you can have them if you want. They cling to me like a 2 year old._

ETA: I forgot that I promised a friend of mine that I would plug the story Red Rover on here, and I forgot it again. I am SO sorry! It's in the Alex Cross crossover/Mentalist section under M for mature. It's hidden very well, but it's a very good story and you should go read it. I know nothing about Alex Cross, but I don't find it hard to follow at all. Also, my buddy kathiann has a story in the works that I'm VERY excited about and I can't wait until she posts it. As she's already left a review for this chapter, I don't see her seeing my gentle nudging to get it finished, but maybe she will feel it. Also, I'm glad demonbunny7 is back. I've missed her. Thank you for all of the reviews of this chapter so far.

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Chapter 6: The Tin Man

It was a thirty minute span from the time Jane made the call until he heard the knock at his door. His 'accomplice', for lack of a better word, came in without being invited. In that thirty minutes, Jane had been to 'Sophieworld' a grand total of two times. It wasn't a nice place to visit and each time, Sophie had pleaded for him to stay with her. He couldn't, of course, as it wasn't real. But every time he went, he couldn't shake the stronger and stronger feeling that maybe, just _maybe_.... no, that was crazy. It wasn't real. In the last dream he'd had of that horrible place, she had been down in his face, yelling (like women tended to do when they were upset he knew, and he hated it) to stay with her. He'd gotten a little to agitated, a little to physical and ended up slapping her harshly across the face just to shut her up. He had found in the course of his visits that his more violent impulses were harder to control there. It scared him to wonder why that was so he tried not to think about it. After he woke up, he could still feel his hand stinging, and instantly regretted his impromptu act of violence, even if Sophie had deserved it. He shook that thought from his mind. No one deserved that.

When Jane saw his accomplice walking into his room, he put on his best smile. It wasn't a stretch. He was, in fact, happy to see him. Kimball Cho. Always a down earth kind of guy. Someone who could hopefully keep him grounded. "Hi." Jane said. It sounded almost a little too eager even to him.

"Hi." Cho said in a polite short manner, walking up to his bed and patting it lightly. Cho wore his usual work garb, plain white short-sleeved shirt, dark blue tie, and black pants. His hair was laying perfectly too. Jane admired how well the man dressed and found himself longing for his own three piece suits. Both in his dreams and in the real world, he was wearing standard issue hospital white. A white t-shirt and linen pants in the dream world, and in the 'real world' a white hospital gown with tiny little blue flowers that were too small to see unless you were really looking. He was so tired of white. "You look like hell, man." It was Cho, stating the obvious.

Jane laughed an actually amused chuckle. He knew he could count on Cho. "Don't I though?"

"So what's the deal? They letting you out of here?"

"No, not exactly." He turned his head, knowing Cho would follow his eyes. On the chair on the opposite side of the bed, laid his coat. Jane raised a brow to Cho who walked over and began looking in the pockets. Jane watched as Cho pulled out a prescription bottle and held it up, a questioning look on his face. Jane nodded, and Cho threw him the bottle. "That's it? You could have gotten a nurse to find that for you."

"No." Jane said, playing with the top of the bottle. He knew he had to do it, but it didn't mean that he wanted to or was even the least bit excited about it. "That's not why you're here." He pointed to the water pitcher that he'd called the nurse to bring before he'd called Cho to come. Cho took a deep, seemingly annoyed breath (as annoyed as Cho ever seemed to be) and poured Jane a glass of water from the container.

"I'm here to be your barmaid then."

"As fetching as you'd be in short shorts and high heels, no. That's not why you're here either."

Jane pointed to the chair beside of him in an effort to get Cho to sit. They had good unspoken communication between them and Cho wasn't letting him down. "Is this about the drug Peterson gave you?"

Jane's face nearly betrayed him as a quizzical look washed over him. He couldn't remember if he'd seen him at the warehouse or not.

"I was there, remember? Lisbon told us all about how the drug was affecting you." Cho explained. "She said you'd be in the hospital for a few days, until it wore off."

"Missing me already?"

"You called me. I haven't had time to miss you." he said very seriously, but his dimples could be seen from the slight smirk he couldn't seem to hold in. "What do you want, Jane?"

"Oh, I want a lot of stuff. World peace. A soft shell taco--"

"Jane--"

"I'm going crazy." he blurted out. It wasn't exactly how he'd intended on telling Cho this, but it was out there none-the-less.

"Yes, crazy. From the drugs."

He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not."

Cho crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. He looked intrigued. "Ok. How about you start at the beginning?"

Jane had tried to prepare for this tale from the time he'd called Cho (when he wasn't dreaming of the mental ward that is). But now that it was time to tell it, his mouth began to dry. The excess water his tongue was being denied had seemingly found its way to his increasingly clammy hands. He was Patrick Jane, he told himself for the millionth time. He could do this. "I've been having... dreams I guess you'd call them. Vivid dreams. And in these dreams, I'm always back in the mental hospital."

"Mental hospital?"

"Yes." he sighed. This was hard to talk about. "I was committed for several months after my wife and daughter were killed. I didn't handle it... well." his voice slipped some and he fought to fight back the tears he didn't want to shed in front of Cho. If he was honest with himself, he'd know that the reason he was telling Cho all of this and not Lisbon was that Cho was much better at controlling his emotions. And what man wanted to cry in front of another man? He needed Cho's strength to get through what he needed to get through.

"You're file didn't mention it."

"It wouldn't." he wasn't the least surprised that Cho had read his file. It, in fact, made him respect him more. "I had it erased."

"How?"

"Doesn't matter. The point is, these dreams, these nightmares, in them I'm still in the mental ward. I've never left and I've never gotten better."

"Wow." Cho let out a deep, tension filled breath.

"Wow's an understatement. In any case, lately, since I've gotten drugged, these dreams are, well, more intense."

"More intense how?"

"Do you remember Sophie?" Jane explained his relationship with her and it finally hit Cho who he was talking about. "Well, she was my psychiatrist when I was committed. She's in my dreams. She keeps telling me that this--" he flung his arms around showing Cho that he meant their reality. "That this isn't real. That I never left the institution. That it's only been 6 months, not 5 years, since my family was killed... and.." he paused, deciding if he should tell him the rest. He decided what the hell? "And that there was no Red John. That _I_ killed my wife and child."

Cho sat there for a few moments tapping his fingers on his chin. Jane could tell that he was working all of this over in his mind.. probably considering calling the doctor to take the loony fake psychic up to the seventh floor psych ward.

"So-- you made me up?"

Jane slowly nodded, just to see what he'd say.

He sighed dramatically, looking at Jane incredulously. "Couldn't you have made me taller?"

"Sorry," Jane smiled at his friend, glad the mood had slightly lifted. "According to Sophie, Sophie from Sophie-world, in the quote unquote real world Kimball Cho was the name of my high school drama teacher and Grace Van Pelt was my first girlfriend."

"Well, I'm sure you'd remember if Grace was a girlfriend and me... well, just look at me. I'd make a great drama teacher."

"Yes, you would."

"I have range."

"Yes, you do."

"Do you know how ridiculous this sounds?"

Jane laughed. Man, it was good having someone to talk to about this. To tell him how silly it was. "Yes. I know, but still. I have this.. feeling."

"So, what do you want me to do?" Cho asked. "Pinch you to let you know you aren't dreaming?"

"Already done that." He started to show Cho his arms and the bruises he'd left on them, but then remembered that it had been a dream when he'd done them. It wasn't real. There would be no marks.

"So--"

Jane looked down at his hands and back to his friend. In one he held the water Cho had poured him. In the other, the bottle of pills. Cho instantly realized what was going on and sat up straighter. "You want me to watch you sleep to see what happens?"

"I want you to watch me sleep so I can go into my dream, talk to Sophie, my subconscious I guess, and figure out why I keep dreaming about that place."

Cho seemed to consider this for a moment. "Are you going to try to bring Freddie Kruger back with you too?" he asked in pure monotone sarcasm.

"No." Jane laid back onto his pillow, careful not to spill his water. His head was killing him. "No Freddie Kruger, at least I hope not. I just want you here so I can relax. So, I can take my time with her and not having to be fearful of not being able to wake up."

"You want to talk to her." It wasn't a question. But Jane answered yes to it anyway.

"You want to talk to a dream?"

Jane nodded. "I told you I was going crazy."

Cho mumbled something under his breath like "You're already there." but Jane couldn't be sure. "Fine." he said instead.

"Great." Jane beamed, inwardly not feeling the least bit happy about it. He sat back up carefully because his head felt like he'd been involved in a wreck at an intersection and he'd whacked it against the window. "All you have to do is stay with me. If I seem to get too agitated, wake me up. Even with the sleeping pills, I should be able to wake."

"Why the pills then?"

"I want to make sure I go under deep enough." Cho looked at him skeptically. "I have to do this." he told him. "I know it's crazy and I know it's probably stupid to you, but I have to. I have to know why I keep going back there."

"Alright, man." Cho sighed sitting on the edge of his seat. "Lets get this over with."

"Good." Jane opened his bottle of sleeping pills that he'd gotten filled when he'd been released from the mental ward all of those years before. He'd never used them, but always carried them around with him. He had no idea why. He took out one pill, one would be enough, and swallowed it followed by the water. He settled back into his bed and heard Cho quip if he wanted him to hold his hand. "No, I'm fine. Thanks though" he teased back.

"Oh, Patrick. You are anything but fine." He heard, opening his eyes and finding Sophie. She did not look happy. He was in his white room, but this time, his arms and legs had been restrained to the bed. An angry black and blue bruise clung on Sophie's cheek in the shape of his hand. "You have a lot of explaining to do, Patrick."

"I could say the same for you." he said, trying to fight the urge to pull at the restraints. _They aren't real. You aren't really tied down._ he kept telling himself, although they felt pretty damn real at the time. He hoped he was brave enough to go through with what he knew he had to do. He looked at Sophie, beautiful Sophie, and grinned. He had to know what the hell was going on.


	7. Home

_A/N: This chapter has some language in it because well, Jane's not a happy camper. Be forwarned. I don't own any of these character. I do own all mistakes. _

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Chapter 7: Home

The feeling of being strapped to the bed wasn't one that Jane particularly liked. Unable to move his arms or legs made him feel trapped, uneasy. However, he knew in the back of his mind that he was only sleeping. That Cho was waiting for him to wake up and then all would be right with the world. Unfortunately, he would have his talk with the good doctor Miller and know why his subconsciousness was torturing him so badly first.

Sitting on a chair next to him, the brown-haired doctor folded her arms. The black and blue bruise his hand had left during his last visit kept taunting him. "I'm sorry about that." he said sincerely, nodding to let her know he meant her face, and he thought he actually meant it. He couldn't be sure, of course, since his feelings were so out of whack there.

She shrugged, obviously aggravated at both the injury and his reluctance to believe that their reality was 'real'. "Why are you sorry?" she said sharply. He'd never heard her speak to him in such a way. Almost like she was channeling Lisbon. "I'm not real, right? Why do you care if you bruise a figment of your imagination?"

_Ouch._ he thought. It stung to hear her say that more than he thought it would. "I am sorry." he said again. This time, he wasn't exactly sure why. He pulled at his restraints gently, his eyes like a puppy dog looking at his owner pitifully. "I promise not to do it again. Please. Undo these." He used all of the charm he could muster which, he found out, wasn't much. "Please."

"Sorry. Can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"Sophie--"

"Patrick, I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am."

He'd hurt her, both physically and emotionally. The hurt in her eyes was enough to make his stomach knot. If he could take it back, take it all back, he would. Even in this dream world, Sophie hadn't deserved that, even if at the time he'd thought she deserved more. "I promise to never hurt you again." he said.

She smiled sadly, taking her gaze away from him. "I know you won't. I won't let you."

_"No! You're hurting me, Patrick. Stop!"_

He shot up as much as he could as the mental image flashed through his head. He was in his car. His black Lexus. It had been his wife's actually. She'd loved that car. It had been a present for her 30th birthday. A very wealthy client had been so enamored by him that she had given a donation to his 'cause'. That donation had bought the Misses a new car. He saw himself driving down the road, one hand on the wheel and one holding his wife's wrist tightly. She was dressed in a dark green, sequence dress, a reverse halter that flattered her shoulders in a way that delighted all of the men at the party. And she had made it a point to talk to every one of those starry-eyed, horny bastards.

"Whoa." he said, automatically pulling his hand toward his forehead. It was stopped instantly by the straps that held him down. As it was, he shut his eyes tightly. His headache felt like jackhammers. Why hadn't he remembered that before?

"Patrick? Patrick, what happened? Are you ok?" It was Sophie. Not his wife. Not Lisbon. Sophie.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm--" _"Pull the car over, now!" She sounded furious. As furious as he'd ever heard her before. And he was a little bit drunk. "No. You tell me. Tell me that you didn't want those men. That you just want me." She paused... she actually had the nerve to pause. Her eyes averted his. "I'm sorry Patrick."_

"It's not real." he said, turning his head over and over on the pillow, trying to get the images out of his head. Images that up until then he had never seen. It was the sleeping pill. It had to be. The pill mixed with the drugs that were already in him was sending his system into overload. Now he was having flashes of memories that never happened in a place that didn't exist. He wished to hell that Cho would wake him up. He'd had enough.

"Patrick." Sophie said calmly and soothingly, apparently forgetting all about the violent act he'd done to her mere hours before. She leaned over his bed and took his hand gently. "Patrick, you are remembering. You are finally remembering what really happened to your family that night. This is good."

"Good for who? You? I'm not getting any good out of this." Calm down, he ordered himself sternly. It wasn't real. None of it. Not the fight. Not Sophie. Not any of it.

"Yes you are. You are getting the truth."

He scoffed. "The truth? Lady you wouldn't know the truth if it bit you on the ass."

That made her sit up a little straighter. "I know that there was no Red John."

He shook his head, eyes closed. "Stop saying that."

"I know that you killed your family. I know. I know everything."

"Are you God now?" he spat.

_"Sorry! You're sorry!" _He heard himself slur and then he was back in the car. _"I never meant to look at the other men, Patrick. Honestly." "And Simon James?" "Simon? Your MC? We talked, nothing happened." He laughed at her. How could she think he was so stupid, so blind? He was Patrick Fucking Jane. The grip he had on her arm tightened and he could see the yell she tried so hard to hold in. "Patrick, you'll wake her up if you don't stop." she said more even toned. "She loves you. She won't want to see her father drunk and behaving this way." He looked back and saw her. His little girl, sleeping so peacefully in the backseat--_

"Don't hold back." Sophie urged him on. "You need to remember this, Patrick. It's the only way you'll truly be free."

To that he had to laugh. The shock of it even surprised him "Free? Dear doctor Sophie. I'm tied to a bed in a small room in a mental hospital. How am I 'free'?"

"Exactly." She grinned down at him. "You have to remember. Focus."

And he did.

He found himself sitting in the backseat, right behind the driver. Jane still wore his white t-shirt and pants. His daughter was curled beside of him sleeping. Her head was opposite of him. She was still wearing her sparkly back evening dress she'd been so proud of. Her first pair of heels laid on the floorboard. Heels, she'd said, weren't as fun as they looked. Jane saw himself driving the car down the twisting road toward their home. It was dark. He couldn't remember what happened next. He didn't know if it was real or imaginary any more. His mind was too far gone.

Jane saw the man in the front seat, a pompous ass who he didn't recognize as himself any more, holding his wife's arm forcefully. He was visibly drunk. It didn't take a psychic to know that it wouldn't end well. "There is no Red John." Jane whispered to himself almost as if trying to figure out a puzzle.

Jane felt the car drifting over the double yellow line before the driver did. And he saw the headlights coming at them before anyone else in the car. He reached over the seat to grab the wheel, yelling at the man in the seat, him, to turn the wheel.

It was too late. There was a horrendous crash. The sound of twisting metal and breaking glass filled the air. The car flipped three times and was stopped just inches from a ravine by a tree stump and rock on the side of the road. They were yards from their home.

"No!" he said, barely above a whisper. He opened his eyes back and saw Sophie. "There was no wreck. I didn't kill them. Red John--" he choked out. "Red John--" But his attempts to talk her into that were becoming futile. He remembered. He remembered everything.....

_"Wake up. Please wake up." He shook her gently, but his wife didn't stir. Her neck looked broken and there was a piece of glass sticking out of it. In fact, there was glass everywhere in her, cutting her in horrible ways and places. She looked like she'd been hacked to death by a madman. He turned then to look at his daughter. She wasn't laying down like she had been before. She was sitting upright now behind him, her head turned at an ungodly angle. She was gasping for air. He heard her cough and saw blood pour out of her mouth. Before he could get to her, she smiled at him, mouth red with her own blood and then she froze. Her eyes became lifeless, unseeing. _

_He was the only one who could move. His leg appeared to be broken, but really, what did it matter? He could see the lights of his house and did the only thing his shocked mind could do. _

_He carried his daughter up first, not wanting her to be left alone in the car. He was a good father after all. He carried her to her room and laid her on the hardwood floor. He was numb as he went back for his wife and placed her beside his dead daughter. He sat there beside of them, hugging himself and rocking back and forth. He didn't know how long he sat there, looking at them, begging to God to make their chests move with breath. He couldn't comprehend what he'd done. He'd been drunk. He'd been driving. He'd fought with his wife. He'd killed them. _

_He looked down at his hands, covered in their blood, and snapped. _

_His genius mind, the mind that hand conned so many people, turned inward and conned himself._

"I took my hand covered in their blood." he told Sophie, recounting what he was remembering. "I took-- I stood up, and I walked to the wall behind me. Their blood was on my hands. I could hear the sirens coming and I knew that the cops were coming for me. I don't know why I drew it. I'd always been called the 'Smiling Man'. Or maybe it was because it was the last thing I saw my daughter do. In any case, I drew it. I drew the smiling face." He could see it. He could see himself drawing it on the wall in his family's blood. It matched the one beside him now. "It was my fault." he said as if he'd waken from a deep sleep. His eyes found Sophie's and tears flowed down his cheek.

"Yes." She smiled, not from the fact that he'd killed his family, but that he'd finally been able to remember what really happened. He knew she saw it as a great breakthrough. He saw it as something completely different.

"There was no Red John."

"No."

He paused. "Bullshit." he said, his face stone, tears drying.

"Excuse me?"

"Bull-shit." he said slower so she could comprehend. "You are telling me this is reality. _This _is what really happened?"

"I'm telling you the truth, Patrick. You have to live with the consequences of your actions."

"Why would I want to live in a world where I did _that_? How could I live here?"

"Because it's _real."_

It took him a minute to decide, but once he did, he was committed. He shook his head at her. "What is real is relative." he told her before letting his mind go and watched her fade away through a dim tunnel.

"Jane. Jane, wake up." It was Cho. Good old reliable Cho. "Hey, welcome back. I didn't think I'd be able to wake you."

Jane tested his arms for a minute, just to see if he could move them. To his great happiness, they weren't tied down. So much better than where he'd been.

"Well, how did it go?" Cho asked curiously. He was still sitting in the seat next to him. Jane saw a book open and upside down on the floor next to him.

"How long was I out?" he asked instead of answering anything.

"About an hour. I've had to shoo away several nurses. You are quite popular."

"Yay me." He said, easing himself up.

"Easy, Jane. The doctor said you have to stay here until you are better."

"Cho, my man. I am better. Please, get the doctor and let him know that I'm ready to be discharged."

Cho acted like he was going to say something, then appeared to think better of it. He left just as Lisbon walked in. "You are looking better." she smiled brightly.

"Thanks." he said, smiling back. This world was so much better than the other.

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The End

_A/N: Yeah, I can't believe it's over either. Thank you guys SO much for the love you've shown this story. It has really meant a lot to me. :)_


	8. An Alternate Home

_A/N: So, this is a new and revised ending to Oz that was requested by cureless. It was requested a few months ago, but I honestly couldn't figure out how to do it. See, in 'my' mind, Sophie world was real and he had made up Lisbon world, so the trick was to change that for the 'alternate DVD' (LOL) version. The beginning of this chapter is the same as the real chapter 7 up until you get to the **** for the most part. I did make a few changes. I hope you enjoy this alternate ending. it doesn't flow exactly real well because, well, it's not supposed to be Lisbon world that's real LOL_

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters... I do own my tv and am thankful for the new season of the Mentalist. I am also the owner of my computer where I found out this story received 2 'Jello' Awards (Best Inner Conflict and Best Cliffhanger). I'm not bragging in the least. I was SHOCKED that this was even nominated for anything, much less for winning. So since cureless nominated it, here is the ending asked for. I hope you like it :)_

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Chapter 7: An Alternate Home

The feeling of being strapped to the bed wasn't one that Jane particularly liked. Unable to move his arms or legs made him feel trapped, uneasy. However, he knew in the back of his mind that he was only sleeping. That Cho was waiting for him to wake up and then all would be right with the world. Unfortunately, he would have his talk with the good doctor Miller and know why his subconsciousness was torturing him so badly first.

Sitting on a chair next to him, the brown-haired doctor folded her arms. The black and blue bruise his hand had left during his last visit kept taunting him. "I'm sorry about that." he said sincerely, nodding to let her know he meant her face, and he thought he actually meant it. He couldn't be sure, of course, since his feelings were so out of whack there.

She shrugged, obviously aggravated at both the injury and his reluctance to believe that their reality was 'real'. "Why are you sorry?" she said sharply. He'd never heard her speak to him in such a way. Almost like she was channeling Lisbon. "I'm not real, right? Why do you care if you bruise a figment of your imagination?"

_Ouch._ he thought. It stung to hear her say that more than he thought it would. "I am sorry." he said again. This time, he wasn't exactly sure why. He pulled at his restraints gently, his eyes like a puppy dog looking at his owner pitifully. "I promise not to do it again. Please. Undo these." He used all of the charm he could muster which, he found out, wasn't much. "Please."

"Sorry. Can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"Sophie--"

"Patrick, I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am."

He'd hurt her, both physically and emotionally. The hurt in her eyes was enough to make his stomach knot. If he could take it back, take it all back, he would. Even in this dream world, Sophie hadn't deserved that, even if at the time he'd thought she deserved more. "I promise to never hurt you again." he said.

She smiled sadly, taking her gaze away from him. "I know you won't. I won't let you."

_"No! You're hurting me, Patrick. Stop!"_

He shot up as much as he could as the mental image flashed through his head. He was in his car. His black Lexus. It had been his wife's actually. She'd loved that car. It had been a present for her 30th birthday. A very wealthy client had been so enamored by him that she had given a donation to his 'cause'. That donation had bought the Misses a new car. He saw himself driving down the road, one hand on the wheel and one holding his wife's wrist tightly. She was dressed in a dark green, sequence dress, a reverse halter that flattered her shoulders in a way that delighted all of the men at the party. And she had made it a point to talk to every one of those starry-eyed, horny bastards.

"Whoa." he said, automatically pulling his hand toward his forehead. It was stopped instantly by the straps that held him down. As it was, he shut his eyes tightly. His headache felt like jackhammers. Why hadn't he remembered that before? Because it wasn't real, that's why. It was the drugs, it had to be.

"Patrick? Patrick, what happened? Are you ok?" It was Sophie. Not his wife. Not Lisbon. Sophie.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm--" _"Pull the car over, now!" She sounded furious. As furious as he'd ever heard her before. And he was a drunk. "No. You tell me. Tell me that you didn't want those men. That you just want me." She paused... she actually had the nerve to pause. Her eyes averted his. "I'm sorry Patrick."_

"It's not real." he said, turning his head over and over on the pillow, trying to get the images out of his head. Images that up until then he had never seen. It was the sleeping pill. It had to be. The pill mixed with the drugs that were already in him was sending his system into overload. Now he was having flashes of memories that never happened in a place that didn't exist. He wished to hell that Cho would shake him and wake him up. He'd had enough.

"Patrick." Sophie said calmly and soothingly, apparently forgetting all about the violent act he'd done to her mere hours before. "Patrick, you are remembering. You are finally remembering what really happened to your family that night. This is good."

"Good for who? You? I'm not getting any good out of this." Calm down, he ordered himself sternly. It wasn't real. None of it. Not the fight. Not Sophie. Not any of it.

"Yes you are. You are getting the truth."

He scoffed. "The truth? Lady you wouldn't know the truth if it bit you on the ass."

That made her sit up a little straighter. "I know that there was no Red John."

He shook his head, eyes closed. "Stop saying that."

"I know that you killed your family. I know. I know everything."

"Are you God now?" he spat.

_"Sorry! You're sorry!" _He heard himself slur and then he was back in the car. _"I never meant to look at the other men, Patrick. Honestly." "And Simon James?" "Simon? Your MC? We talked, nothing happened." He laughed at her. How could she think he was so stupid, so blind? He was Patrick Fucking Jane. The grip he had on her arm tightened and he could see the yell she tried so hard to hold in. "Patrick, you'll wake her up if you don't stop." she said more even toned. "She loves you. She won't want to see her father drunk and behaving this way." He looked back and saw her. His little girl, sleeping so peacefully in the backseat--_

"Don't hold back." Sophie urged him on. "You need to remember this, Patrick. It's the only way you'll truly be free."

To that he had to laugh. The shock of it even surprised him "Free? Dear doctor Sophie. I'm tied to a bed in a small room in a mental hospital. How am I 'free'?"

"Exactly." She grinned down at him. "You have to remember. Focus."

And he did, if only to prove her wrong, he did.

He, still in his mental ward best, found himself sitting in the backseat, right behind the driver. . His daughter was curled beside of him sleeping. Her head was opposite of him. She was still wearing her sparkly back evening dress she'd been so proud of. Her first pair of heels laid on the floorboard. Heels, she'd said, weren't as fun as they looked. Jane saw himself driving the car down the twisting road toward their home. It was dark. He couldn't remember what happened next. He didn't know if it was real or imaginary any more. His mind was too far gone.

Jane saw the man in the front seat, a pompous ass who he didn't recognize as himself any more, holding his wife's arm forcefully. He was visibly drunk. It didn't take a psychic to know that it wouldn't end well.

Jane felt the car drifting over the double yellow line before the driver did. And he saw the headlights coming at them before anyone else in the car. He reached over the seat to grab the wheel, yelling at the man in the seat, him, to turn it.

It was too late. There was a horrendous crash. The sound of twisting metal and breaking glass filled the air. The car flipped three times and was stopped just inches from a ravine by a tree stump and rock on the side of the road. They were yards from their home.

"No!" he said, barely above a whisper. He opened his eyes back and saw Sophie. "There was no wreck. I didn't kill them. Red John--" he choked out. "Red John--" But his attempts to talk her into that were becoming futile. He was violenty sucked back into whatever drug induced 'memory' he was having.

_"Wake up. Please wake up." He shook her gently, but his wife didn't stir. Her neck looked broken and there was a piece of glass sticking out of it. In fact, there was glass everywhere in her, cutting her in horrible ways and places. She looked like she'd been hacked to death by a madman. He turned then to look at his daughter. She wasn't laying down like she had been before. She was sitting upright now behind him, her head turned at an ungodly angle. She was gasping for air. He heard her cough and saw blood pour out of her mouth. Before he could get to her, she smiled at him, mouth red with her own blood and then she froze. Her eyes became lifeless, unseeing. _

_He was the only one who could move. His leg appeared to be broken, but really, what did it matter? He could see the lights of his house and did the only thing his shocked mind could do. _

_He carried his daughter up first, not wanting her to be left alone in the car. He was a good father after all. He carried her to her room and laid her on the hardwood floor. He was numb as he went back for his wife and placed her beside his dead daughter. He sat there beside of them, hugging himself and rocking back and forth. He didn't know how long he sat there, looking at them, begging to God to make their chests move with breath. He couldn't comprehend what he'd done. He'd been drunk. He'd been driving. He'd fought with his wife. He'd killed them. _

_He looked down at his hands, covered in their blood, and snapped. _

_His genius mind, the mind that hand conned so many people, turned inward and conned himself._

"I took my hand covered in their blood." he told Sophie, recounting what he was seeing in his mind. His voice was calm, almost like he was reading a story. "I took-- I stood up, and I walked to the wall behind me. Their blood was on my--" he couldn't finish. "I could hear the sirens coming and I knew that the cops were coming for me.

"Yes." She smiled, not from the fact that he'd killed his family, but that he'd finally been able to remember what really happened. He knew she saw it as a great breakthrough. He saw it as something completely different.

"There was no Red John?"

"No."

He paused. "Bullshit." he said certainly.

"Excuse me?"

"Bull-shit." he said slower so she could comprehend. "You are telling me this is reality. _This _is what really happened?"

"I'm telling you the truth, Patrick. You have to live with the consequences of your actions."

"Why would I want to live in a world where I did _that_? How could I live here?"

"Because it's _real."_

_**_

He felt it. He _knew_ in that moment that what Sophie told him was true, just not in the way she thought it was. It had been what made him sleepless at night, what made him dive into his work even if no one realized how hard he was actually working. He _had _killed his family and it was something he had to live with every day, but it had been with pride and boastfulness, not booze and anger.

"Thank you." he spoke gently to the woman, the figment, sitting beside of him.

"You're welcome." She smiled. "I'm so glad you remember. Now, with therapy, you can go on with the rest of your life."

At that, he smiled his own smile, feeling pressure on his tied-down hand from an unseen force. "You misunderstand me. Thank you for waking me from my delusion." The pressure on his hand grew and he began to hear the faint sound of a very familiar, very concerned voice.

"Patrick--" Sophie's formerly warm countaintance was growing more and more downtrodden.

"Sophie, in the beginning I often wondered if I had made Red John up. If I had honestly been the cause of my family's deaths. If there were memories I was supressing. But I know now... I know I didn't. I know that this world, me laying here talking to you, was caused by the drugs that forced this delusion on me. I understand it all now. Thanks to you, well me I guess since you are in _my _head."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. "You want to know how? Because I have people who care about me, who depend on me, waiting for me."

"Waiting for you in a make believe world." Sophie corrected.

"No, waiting for me in the real world. I didn't kill my family... not in the way you think. Because even as a young man, I never drank. My father was an alcoholic and I promised myself I'd never touch the stuff. So there is no way, no way, I would ever get drunk, much less drive drunk. It's the drugs I was given doing this to me, giving me these fake memories." The pressure on his hand was sliding up his arm and her voice was calling him home. "Good bye, Dr. Miller. I hope to never see you again." With that, he shut his eyes tightly, inwardly hoping that he was right.

When his eyes opened, he saw the best thing he'd seen in a very long time. It wasn't his wife, of course. He knew she was dead and he still blamed his pride for her death. But he had to live with that fact, that truth, not some delusion his drugged out mind had created. "Lisbon--"

"You just did something incredibly stupid." she answered back sternly. "Taking a sleeping pill on top of God knows what other drugs you were given at the warehouse. Do you honestly have that much of a death wish?" her words were harsh, but Jane could feel her hand tighten around his.

"No death wish--" he paused, looking up at her, his eyes focusing more and more. "Not any more. I went--" and he stopped himself. No need in telling her where he'd been or what he'd been through. "I know this is real." He squeezed her hand back, wondering if she accepted the double meaning in his words.


End file.
